Nikki Logan - Her Enemy With Benefits - Her Deal with the Devil / My Boyfriend and Other Enemies / Blind Date Rivals

His mouth eased into a breath-stealing grin. ‘You and me. “Do not Disturb” sign. And that box I promised you. Maybe two.’

Her body gave a betraying howl of longing.

‘Your stamina’s that good?’

‘You bet.’ He leaned close, his lips grazing her cheek, and she clamped down on the urge to turn her head a fraction and ram her mouth against his. ‘And I can’t wait to prove it.’

Oh, boy .

‘Sound doable?’

She—it—was extremely doable.

‘Sure.’ She nodded, her insides trembling with need, as she gathered up her work paraphernalia.

‘Sapphire?’

She couldn’t stop, for if she did she’d never make it out of here without flinging herself at him.

‘Yeah?’ she mumbled, trying to stuff her laptop into her bag with limited success—until she realised she was trying to force it into her handbag.

‘You know time apart will feed my hunger for you?’

She gulped.

If they were this turned on now, imagine what time apart would do?

‘And while we focus on business this next week it doesn’t rule out phone sex.’

A ripple of pleasure spread through her at the thought.

‘I’ve never done phone sex,’ she said, sounding like an inexperienced neophyte but not caring. She had a feeling this guy would be teaching her a plethora of unspoken delights.

‘Then this is going to be fun.’

He brushed a kiss across her lips and she let him, lingering a few seconds longer than necessary, aware it would be their last physical contact for a long seven days.

When the need to linger became a driving need to straddle him, she yanked away and grabbed her stuff.

She strode for the door, desperate to put some distance between them. With her hand on the handle and a safe space between them, she said, ‘Patrick?’

‘Yeah?’

Her only consolation was that he looked half as dazed as she was.

‘Better make that three boxes.’

SAPPHIE LASTED A whole three days without succumbing to the temptation of seeing Patrick’s face.

Then he sent her a text, citing an urgent Skype meeting, and she caved.

Purely business, of course. And the fact she spent ten minutes primping in front of a mirror? It was the usual routine she’d do before any work meeting.

The part where her palms grew clammy as she swiped on mascara and scrubbed off her lippy twice before settling on the perfect shade was pure feminine preening.

She had four more days before he made good on his promise. Just the two of them and a decadent weekend. With boxes.

She’d been a smart-ass, taunting him at the conclusion of their last face-to-face meeting, but deep down she was a quivering mess of confusion and nerves and lust. The kind of lust she’d never experienced. The kind of lust guaranteed to turn her into a fool.

She didn’t suffer fools lightly, and respected hard work and dedication in comparison with deceitful women who faked helplessness in order to score points with men. The type of women Patrick usually hung out with if the internet was anything to go by.

It had been a stupid, spur-of-the moment decision to check out his more recent past, spurred by two glasses of Chardon-nay and a rampant curiosity.

It had been the end of a long eighteen-hour day—the day after she’d seen him; a day in which she’d determinedly buried herself in work to erase the lingering memory of his touch, and her response.

The wine had helped her wind down but it hadn’t taken the edge off her curiosity and she’d succumbed to temptation.

The internet had been enlightening, to say the least, and had provided her with a plethora of images and articles. Usu-ally depicting Patrick with a stunning supermodel on his arm, laughing into the camera, with a different country landscape in the background. From Santorini to Monte Carlo, Nice to Barcelona, Patrick was there, partying his way through Eu-rope.

She’d given up after the tenth page. The endless hits had been rather depressing.

He’d lived such an exciting life amid glamorous people while she’d spent the last ten years devoting hers to Seaborns.

She didn’t regret a single moment—discounting the last year when she’d been an idiot in shouldering the burden alone—and still experienced a thrill when she walked into their amazing showroom. But seeing pictorial evidence of Patrick’s lifestyle reinforced what she’d always felt around him: gauche, prim, floundering a little.

And envious. She’d always been a tad envious of his ability to charm people, his ease to cruise through life without a care in the world, his natural exuberance that made everyone around him smile.

If anything, those images had reinforced what she already knew deep down: that Patrick was way different and always had been. Back in high school he’d annoyed her, so what had changed now? He was still brash and cocky and charming, and had waltzed into this new Fourde Fashion with the ease of a practised CEO.

As far as she could tell from her research he’d been a minion in Paris, so this position was a massive boost up the corporate ladder for him. From what she’d been able to find of his professional life, that was. There’d been a glut of social stuff and pics, and nada on his work. She’d found it odd but had been too depressed by the gorgeous glamazons on his arm in every photo to worry about it.

And that exacerbated her annoyance—the fact he’d probably been handed this job on a silver platter and would rock it because he had the backing of his family name.

The irony wasn’t lost on her: people would say the same about her and Seaborns. But there was a difference. She’d been groomed from a young age to take over, had acted in accordance because of it. Had made sacrifices, had never lost sight of the end goal, had strived to be the best leader this jewellery company had ever seen.

Could Patrick say the same? Doubtful.

For a guy who’d spent his final year doodling and folding origami figures with his study notes he’d come a long way.

And judging by this current show he was nailing it too.

Admiration tempered her annoyance at his glib, charmed life. The guy might have skived off during that final year at high school but he was putting in the hard yards now.

And she admired hard work. She understood it. What she didn’t understand was her undeniable, clamouring attraction to him.

She felt good around him, in a way she hadn’t in a long time. Her skin tingled, her blood pounded and she felt alive .

Proving she could physically handle her role as Seaborns’ boss was one thing, but handling whatever Patrick dished out took her recovery to a whole other level.

Matching him sexually would push her out of her comfort zone, and it would take the edge off this insane lust she had for him.

Most importantly, it would prove to herself she was whole again.

That had been the worst part of her enforced rest at Ten-ang—the insidious self-doubts that would creep up on her at inopportune moments and make her wonder if she had what it took to continue leading Seaborns.

For someone who’d loved being the face of the company, who’d attended posh soirées and glamorous events and talked up Seaborn’s fabulous jewellery every chance she got, during her recovery she’d wondered if she’d ever find that kind of energy again.

Sure, she’d improved, but every time she yawned or had a twinge in her muscles or a minor headache from spending too long at the computer, she experienced a fleeting panic that she could suffer a relapse.

Being with Patrick, having him desire her, made her feel physically thriving, and that, more than anything, silenced her doubts in getting sexually involved with him.